Harry Potter and the sunken city of Ryleh
by IwriteThings
Summary: Harry Potter finds himself touched by the High Priest Cthulhu, who takes an interest in the affairs of mortals once more. Tonks struggles with her feelings for Harry as they struggle with the issues that arise from Harry's brush with the Elder Gods. H/T
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Harry Potter, and I am not H.P. Lovecraft, but I believe that these two stories need to be intertwined. The plot of this story is mine, and the characters belong to their respective owners.

Sleep well friends, for we may rejoice. In our worship, he will devour us first, and we shall not suffer, for in death we will find the release that the slaves shall not...

**Chapter 1** – **Cthulhu Fhtagn**

In the darkness loomed an odd assortment of improperly angled monoliths. The "buildings" if one could call them that shimmered and bent as he floated closer and closer. Their black visage punctuated only by the eerie apparentness of the lack of life in the biosphere that existed around the buildings. The sunken city of R'lyeh in all its terrible glory glowered menacingly at its new intruder. The crypt of Cthulhu, the priest of the Great Old Ones, where he lay dreaming deaths dream admitted passage into the city to the confused young boy.

Harry could feel his heart race as he floated ever deeper into the wasteland under neath the ocean. It is said that life could not survive without water, and yet, before him lay a sterile environment, encased in a tomb of icy liquid. His eyes darted back and forth, unable to move any other part of his body as he realized he was being slowly drawn to the greatest tower in the landscape. A black oblong square that could only be described as wrong caused his heart to pump ever harder, his mind struggling to wrest control of his body from its paralysis.

The tower flexed and shimmered as the water warped the light trying to reach his eyes. He watched in awe as the building bent before snapping straight, only to droop in the other direction. His head began to pound as he felt something reaching out to his mind. He had been identified by the creature who lay in deaths dream, and it was intrigued. He attempted to guard his psyche against the intrusion, but his defenses melted away violently. His eyes glazed over, his heart beginning to slow down. He was dieing, and he could only watch helplessly as his mind was ravaged by a being not of this world. A creature of such difference and alien intentions, he was helpless to even begin to understand it.

Thoughts of the woman he would never love, the family he would never have, and the battle he would never fight flashed through his mind. The pain in his body radiated to his soul, he could feel fire burning in his chest as Cthulhu explored his mind, soul, and body. The struggling gave way to acceptance as Harry prepared to join his tormentor in death, but just as the stars had aligned, their motions weakened the grip that Cthulhu had made, and Harry was thrust violently from the city of R'lyeh, only to find himself once again in what he called his own bed.

Harry faded in and out of consciousness, his pulse weak. He lay on his back, his head having fallen to the side, sparing him from choking on the vomit that had leaked from his mouth. It felt as though ice cubes were slowly and sporadically pumping through his veins, struggling against the molasses that occupied his once strong vascular system. He felt his entire soul vibrating, the silver cord of life that connected his mind to his body weakened by the experience he had just survived, if only barely...

"Please help me", Harry choked out, unable to make a sound louder then a whisper. He wanted to live. He could feel his heart pounding ever harder, as his brain released all number of chemicals in a futile attempt at finding equilibrium. Fear gripped his chest, unable to escape the effects of his short journey to the sunken city. His brush with Cthulhu was unforgettable, and his current physical state pressed him deeper into panic. He "knew" that his escape from death was only temporary, he was still going to die, and his family was going to find him with nothing more than a look of horror on his features.

"Why me?... Why can't this have happened to Draco, or Voldemort?" Harry spluttered. "I don't deserve this. This isn't supposed to be how this ends." He alternated between pleading, begging, and silently raging as his condition refused to improve. After several hours, Harry finally began to regain control of his body. He could wiggle his toes, and he had jerked his head away from his vomit, only for it to land facing the other side of his room, the now exposed side cold and wet. The feeling invigorated him, as he realized he was regaining strength, and his body heat was returning.

Harry Potter had discovered that while Gods do not generally have much to say, when they should chance communication, one may find it in their best interest to listen to what they have to say.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Harry Potter, and I am not H.P. Lovecraft, but I believe that these two stories need to be intertwined. The plot of this story is mine, and the characters belong to their respective owners.

That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die.

Abdul Alhazred

**Chapter 2 – The Crawling Chaos of Surrey**

The fear in Harry's heart would not shake itself loose, even as he slowly dragged himself from his soiled sheets. The pure terror he had felt, as time and space melted away, and he found his soul in an alien world between the walls of reality that shook him to the very bone. There were no words to describe what it felt like to be touched by an Elder God, but he could still feel the caress that nearly seized his heart.

"I want to live." Harry repeated to himself low and slow, his breath still stitched into his throat. "I will not allow a dream to affect me." He continued as he gathered his sheets, depositing them in the washing machine, before returning to his room to scrub his mattress. The weakness evident in his legs as he struggled to climb the stairs. He busied himself with cleaning, the memories of his dream beginning to fade. He found himself slowly building a mental block to the experience. He could deny that which did not exist, and as he destroyed the evidence of his sickness, he found himself believing what happened less and less.

"Just a dream." Harry chuckled, his mood rising with the sun. The room he lay in was bathed in gold, the window amplifying the cleansing effect of the solar shimmer. The magical experience was effectively banished through the most mighty of censors, the human mind. Though, what even Harry did not understand was the concept of time. Patience is a given, in particularly when one is neither alive nor dead. Cthulhu was curious, and it had been so very long since he had communicated with the world outside of his crypt.

If Harry had found himself somewhere over the point of inaccessibility in the Pacific Ocean, he may have felt a small tinge more fear then he was currently experiencing. The waters were rolling and bucking far above the sunken city that currently slept below. The psychic energy being expelled slowly began to escape from the city, a calling to the planet that once forsook its greatest Priest. The call of Cthulhu echoed loudly, and then faded. The stars were mercifully still not right, but even the greatest wizards in the world could not fathom exactly what may have heard their masters call.

Harry found himself in the garden much earlier then usual. He was eager to keep his mind off the night before, and found that manual labor was an excellent escape from the magical world that seemed to constantly beckon to him. As he worked, he found himself lazily singing a small ditty, mostly a tune that was occasionally inter spoken with gibberish that he believed he was making up.

"Tutulu..." Harry repeated a few times, before continuing, " Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'Lyeh wgah nagl fhtagn". The song as it were continued to repeat in his head to different beats and tempos. As he worked, it would often begin as a slow and melodic death like dirge of those remembered, only to morph into an angry crescendo as his mood and mind changed like the wind.

"Where is Harry?" Vernon Dursley bellowed. "He needs to be in the garden!" He continued to rage, only to be silenced by the lifted hand of his wife.

"Vernon, he has been in the garden since I woke up." Petunia spoke, an eerie look on her face. "Here, have some breakfast." She continued as she handed off a rather hefty plate to her husband of equally proportionate girth.

Vernon puffed up for a bit before grunting. "Good, I guess he is learning his place in things."

After several hours of hard labor in the front yard with an empty stomach, Harry began to feel weak. His body echoed the feelings he had experienced the night before on a much reduced scale, but it was enough for his heart to begin pounding with a bit more force in his chest. The feeling of panic that tried to take over his body was much easier to wrestle down, as he began breathing deeply, convincing himself that he was in no current danger.

After a few moments of deep breaths, Harry finally looked up from the garden below him, only to realize with great horror that there stood a man in a cloak scant few feet from him, but still in the street.

"Who... Who are you?" Harry choked out as he began to feel his hearing fade, the beat of his heart drowning out what ever noise the man may have made. "Are you a death eater?" He continued, wishing that his guard, whomever it may be, would make their appearance in time to save him.

After a few moments, Harry's mind filled with a single word, which he believed came from the man before him. "Nyarlothotep." Was the reply he received. He could not see the individuals face, and he did not seem to be wishing Harry any ill will at the moment.

"Look... Nyarlothotep..." Harry spoke, attempting to exude more confidence then he had at the moment. "If my Uncle sees you... I am in a lot of trouble... So can you... go away?"

A maddening chuckle struggled with Harry's heart beat for access to his ear drums. The sound of a thousand children giggling at once seemed to echo all about.

"Harry... There is interest in you." Nyarlothotep projected, before fading from sight.

Young Mr. Potter nearly stumbled to the floor as the pressing visage of the being before him disappeared. It was not apparation that propelled him, but some force far more sinister. Harry took several deep breaths as he looked about his immediate vicinity, it seemed odd, but no one on the street seemed to have noticed the tall cloaked figure, or even moved during the few minutes the individual was there. Not even the nosiest of neighbors seemed perturbed by his previous presence on the immaculately pedicured street known as Privet Drive.

**(AN)Thank you for reading. I appreciate all of you who have spent any time reading this story. I plan on chapters being atleast two pages or so, in Arial font at 12 size. This story will eventually be a HONKS story, and please expect Harry to begin slipping into the madness of the Great Old Ones very soon. Also... please read and review, serious... Reviews are the bread and butter of fanfiction. Most of us aren't writing for fame and fortune, we just want to know that we are making someone happy. Thanks.**


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